BSG Mysterious Ways
by Mariel3
Summary: Drugs, love, dying wish...she didn't know what had brought him here, but she accepted him, welcomed him, craved his presence when he was absent, clutched it to her when he was with her. A/R


Hey! Here's something I started many months ago and decided to ignore. It kept niggling in the back of my mind, however, and after tossing it around with a friend, I've decided to post it. This piece takes place shortly after they found 'Earth'.

**Mysterious Ways**  
By: Mariel

She awoke to the feel of the mattress giving way under Bill's weight as he sat down to take off his shoes. There was movement in the darkness as he tugged them off and placed them to one side, then she felt him stand and heard the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of clothing as he removed his pants. Carefully tamping down her growing anticipation, she allowed a smile to curve her lips when, at last, he lifted the blankets and slid into bed beside her. A small hum escaped her throat as she turned and easily manoeuvred herself to accommodate his presence.

_She saw him less than she would have chosen. _

Over the past few weeks, however, he'd begun to attend some of the meetings of fleet-wide concern. Afterward, they would sometimes speak, his advice carefully meted out in confidential tones. She liked staying behind in the empty meeting room, taking the time to discuss decisions made. The gravity of his demeanour was always softened by a look in his eyes that tore at her heart and made her wish for things she knew there were no point in wishing for.

Other times, he accompanied her as she walked from one destination to another, falling easily into step with her while keeping a running commentary on whatever subject occupied both their minds. She liked those times; liked the normalcy of having him by her side as they moved through his ship.

She liked it best, however, when it was as it was now, in all its glorious madness: him lying beside her, his warmth driving away loneliness and the chill of ship's night. It was then that she could truly let the day's reality go and ease into a tranquility otherwise not granted her.

"Hello," she murmured sleepily. Arranging herself around him, her head on his shoulder and one thigh draped over his leg, she sighed comfortably, allowing herself to relax into his presence with an ease born from long familiarity.

"Hello," he said back. His arm hugged her to him, and they both relaxed contentedly.

"Hmmmm..."

The sound came from her throat softly as she settled more closely against him. She saw him so rarely, it seemed, that every time was special, to be held on to tightly, like a secret treasure.

And secret, of course, it had to be.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

The gentle rumble of his voice wrapping her in its comfort, he said, "Lots happened today. I thought you might like some company."

He was right.

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Thank you. To be honest, by the end of the day-" She stopped, knowing he knew how she'd felt. Tired to the bone and feeling her cancer slowly eating away not only her flesh but her energy and spirit as well, she'd entered his quarters earlier that evening and sighed wearily into the emptiness that greeted her. It had been only natural that she wish him with her, though the reasons for his not being so were better than good.

She thanked the gods for his presence now.

They lay together in silence. She knew he was waiting for her to speak; knew he understood that, having been asleep and now being awake, her mind would slowly begin to work, and that once her mind began to work she would need to put thoughts about the day into words.

"It was awful today," she finally began.

"I gathered that," he said quietly. His fingers made small, slow circles on her skin while he waited for her to continue.

She tucked her cold hands between herself and him, and nestled against him. Her tone resigned, she said, "The worst of it is that there's no one thing to concentrate on. _Everything's_ a mess. It's so hard some days..." She lapsed into silence for a few moments, then began again. "There are more problems this time around. You've seen it yourself: people are less willing to put an effort into solving issues. They don't have focus. They squabble over petty things, refuse to compromise." She paused a moment to choose her next words, then continued, "What you said – about needing to be worthy of survival…I always took that for granted. I didn't think it'd be like this. I'd hoped-" She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together.

She was dying, and rather than leaving things orderly and moving forward, everything seemed to be devolving into chaos.

"You'd hoped the human race would be _more_ worthy?" he asked in a low murmur.

She could hear a dry smile in his tone.

"Yes," she admitted. "Yes. Not that we're _unworthy_, but I'd thought we'd be…" Her voice drifted into silence as she considered all the many things she'd hoped.

"More noble? Braver? Better able to see the big picture?"

She nodded at all his suggestions. "We _were_ all those things, I think, at the beginning. People were trying, anyway. But now…" She stared into the soft darkness of his quarters, wondering why she needed this conversation now. She was tired. She wanted to rest with him here and forget everything even remotely related to the reality outside these walls.

"Things will get better," he reassured her. "People have had a terrible shock. They're tired and frightened. Don't give up on them, Laura - they need time to adjust."

_Time_, she thought. He_ had _time; she didn't. Still, she recognised the wisdom in what he said. Time. Time and patience was what it would take. And faith, too, maybe. Faith that there was a purpose to this, that there was a goal to work toward - even if that goal was only to get through one day and into the next.

But you couldn't focus on a goal if other things were eating away at you. And you couldn't have patience without rest. Trying to still her mind, she untucked a now warm hand and moved to lightly run the palm of it across his stomach. Again thanking the gods he was here, she allowed silence to fall once more.

The silence, however, was not a restful one. He was here, and she didn't know when she might be able to speak to him again. There were things that needed to be said and questions that needed to be asked.

After a few moments, he interrupted the silence that hung between them. "It's not just the state of the fleet that's on your mind."

She tensed slightly, then relaxed. Of course he'd sense her disquiet. .

"Not surprising, is it?" she asked slowly, uncertain that what was on her mind was a subject that could be safely broached.

"No," he agreed easily, "I don't suppose it is." He waited a beat, then said in a knowing tone, "You're thinking it's time we finally talked about _this._"

She hesitated and then asked cautiously, "Can we do that?"

He tightened his hold on her briefly. "If you're ready to. I won't disappear, if that's what you're worried about."

It had been. And nothing – _nothing _- could have forced words from her mouth that might have seen the end to his being with her.

"I can't lose you again," she admitted. "I don't see how I could possibly do this without you."

She felt his lips touch her forehead.

"You could," he assured her, "but you don't have to."

Her fingertips played over his chest. Enjoying the warmth he radiated, she pressed her hand flat against him, felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, and wondered yet again how this could possibly be.

When she maintained her silence, he encouraged her gently. "It's all right, Laura. We can talk about this; you can say it."

Even with his permission, she hesitated a long moment. Then, in words designed more to remind herself of the impossibility of this than to inform him of a fact, she began:

"You're…"

Still, she couldn't quite say the word.

And still, he waited.

Finally, she clenched her fingers into a fist. Inhaling deeply, she said in a rush, "You're...dead. _Dead_."

As she said that final word, she wrapped her arm across his chest as though he might disappear if she didn't hold on to him tightly.

He hugged her back, holding her with strong arms that made her feel safe in spite of the truth she had so bravely spoken. After a moment, his voice rumbled.

"I am."

More silence followed his words. Finally, because he had only confirmed what she already knew, she said wistfully, "I wish..."

Her wishes remained unspoken. He knew them as well as she, anyway. Running his hand up and down her arm gently, he murmured, "Me, too."

There was a timbre in his tone that held acceptance and understanding far beyond her own.

"You weren't supposed to die before me," she insisted. That hadn't been the plan; hadn't been the way she had scripted the future for them.

There was another long pause. He exhaled noisily, his breath tickling the back of her hand where it lay on his chest. "Being killed was a surprise. But like you said on New Caprica: shit happens, and then you die. It was my time, Laura."

Her brow furrowed in thought. After all these weeks, when she was brave enough to think about it, his presence still didn't seem real; still didn't seem possible, even though, logic be damned, she clung to it with all her might. A part of her knew this couldn't be, yet it was, and she resolutely accepted it, just as she also accepted his death.

"You're here. I can touch you, hear you. Talk to you. _We've made love_…"

"Yes."

"But you're dead," she repeated softly.

"Yes," he admitted in an amiable tone. "But you've known that for a while. Since I was killed, in fact."

She could count the days, hours and minutes since that event.

He'd died. Before her. The shock of it had almost done her in, almost made her give up and turn her back on everyone and everything. The senselessness of it had made her want to curl up and die herself...

She had been meant to die first. She'd felt confident in that one surety.

And then he'd gotten himself killed, and left her alone.

It had been the most profound alone she'd ever known.

She spoke a random thought: "I miss you."

Turning more onto his side, he looked at her. "How is that possible? I've never really left you." His hand trailed down her hip and then returned to rest on her waist.

She smiled at the casual, sensual movement of his hand. "I guess that's true," she admitted in a dry tone. He'd returned to her shortly after his death, standing quietly in the shadows, waiting for her to notice his presence. She'd dropped her pencil, said his name, and quickly accepted his existence because she wanted to see him so frakking badly she didn't care about the logic of anything. Her smile faded as she asked, "Did your death push me over the edge? I mean, I see you, I talk to you, I make love wi-" She stopped. It was too close to madness and it frightened her. She couldn't go on.

He waited, because he knew she could.

When she finally gathered herself to speak, her voice was determined.

"Am I crazy?" she asked boldly.

There was a smile in his voice when he responded, "You're asking a dead man that?"

Her smile returned, because this was all too surreal for it not to.

"I see your point."

His tone sober, he said gently, "If it's any consolation, you're not out of your mind. You weren't crazy when you experienced the visions before Kobol, and you're not crazy now. It was my time to go, but not my time to leave you. It'll all make sense eventually. You need to have faith."

This time it was she who raised her head slightly so she could look at him directly.

"_You're_ telling _me_ to have faith?"

He nodded. "I am. Hard to believe, eh?" He was gravely serious when he continued, "It's time, Laura. Time for everyone to find it within themselves to believe, to have a little faith in something outside themselves. It's time for people to believe a little more in things they can't see or control or even understand. This was all meant to happen exactly the way it has. There's a plan, Laura, and it's unfolding the way it is supposed to. There's a reason for all this, and everyone needs to accept that and understand that if they work together and support one another - and if they learn from what has happened - the future will be assured. The fleet _will_ find home. Humanity will survive."

She lay there in silence a while, considering his words. What he'd said opened up a multitude of possibilities, and engendered still more questions. She closed her eyes. "This is far more than I can handle in one conversation."

"We've got lots more time for discussions," he said confidently.

Again, she tilted her head in an attempt to look at him and would have spoken had he not forestalled her.

His arms tightened around her. "No. I haven't forgotten. Your cancer's still there. It could still kill you. But something kills all of us, right?"

"Yes, but we don't all come back the way _you_ have. Not that I don't appreciate your presence. But the fact of the matter is, I _don't_ have much time."

"You'll have as much time as you need. You have to examine the possibility that there's something new happening, a new way of being, a new way of looking at life and moving on. You'll have to open yourself up to that. So will everyone else."

Her skepticism twitched. He was sounding too much like Baltar and some of the claptrap he had been spreading throughout the fleet.

"You sound like you've been listening to Baltar too much."

He snorted in a very human way. "Perish the thought. But he has his purpose, too. I'll be around a bit more," he promised, "to help if you need it."

She felt overwhelmed. This was so real.

So impossible.

He was_ dead_.

And yet he was here, with her...

Drugs, love, dying wish...she didn't know what had brought him here, but she accepted him, welcomed him, craved his presence when he was absent, clutched to it when he was with her.

A spasm of pain coursed through her. As she tensed in response, his arm tightened around her again.

"Breathe," he said gently.

She breathed.

"Talk to me," she said through clenched teeth.

And he did, until the pain subsided

-xxx-

_**Galactica corridor; next day**_

Baltar stood back in shadow and watched her approach. There was something different about President Roslin these days. She walked with a confidence that surprised him considering the mess the fleet was presently in. Her calm insistence that people listen to her, that they follow her plans, had drawn many back into her fold. She often seemed distracted, however, even when one was speaking directly to her. It was also often difficult to follow her train of thought; her sentences sometimes flowed disjointedly and were hard to follow.

As he puzzled over the change in her, he heard Six inhale sharply and from the corner of his eye saw her step back. Looking at her more fully, he saw her pale, her eyes widened in surprise. Following her gaze, he turned to see what had affected her so, but saw only Roslin and the usual complement of guards.

Keeping his eyes trained on the President, he kept his voice low. "What's wrong?" he asked, his lips barely moving.

Six shook her head, her eyes still tracking Roslin and her companion.

At that moment, Adama looked over and held her eyes with stern, silent authority. His gaze sent an unmistakable message, and she dropped her eyes quickly, nodding imperceptibly as she did so.

When she managed to gather herself together enough to look up again, he and the President had moved past. She watched him follow Roslin, leaning towards her protectively, his focus solely on her as he spoke to her quietly. The President listened intently. Her two guards followed, oblivious of their unseen companion.

"What's wrong?" Baltar asked out of the side of his mouth again.

Once more, Six shook her head. "I've been so blind" she muttered under her breath. Speaking in a more normal tone, she told him, "We've got to help people accept what Roslin has to say." Fear that Gaius would neither understand nor accept this latest revelation tinged her words as she told him, "She walks in God's Will. She's the Instrument we've been looking for. All this time…" Her voice drifted off. She'd thought Gaius to be more than he was, and had not understood who or what Adama was. _Adama_. She shook her head in wonder.

God worked in mysterious ways.

Baltar looked at her as though she were mad. "Help _Roslin_? The woman who hates me? The woman who'd sooner see me dead than breathing? She's never forgiven me, you know. Never. Not even now. She has never understood that I-"

"I know, Gaius," Six interrupted quickly. "But God reveals Himself and His desires in surprising ways…" Her hand drifted across his chest even as her voice drifted into silence. As she settled into thought, Baltar frowned at her. He watched as she seemed to come to a decision.

In a blink of his eye, she was gone.

End


End file.
